


Stories for Stones

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: bless control-room for willys stories, eska really. really. really has had a lot of them, im not kidding, so. many. pets., theres a whole lotta them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: They didn't even notice they stopped walking.What was all of this about, again?





	Stories for Stones

A head sprouted from lavander blossoms, hair surrounding the emaciated face like a muddy halo. It stared in front of itself for a minute before disappearing in the fragrant purple mass.

With a rustle the tall stems parted to let the langly body emerge and stand still, casting a long, thin shadow on the man under the lone tree facing the field.

Willy looked up and smiled, a hand shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight.

 

“What brings you here?”

“My feet.”

“Do you have no power over them?”

“If I go walking, no, I don’t.”

“And so you just sort of find yourself accidentally crossing an entire field of lavander with no idea what you’re doing or where you’re going.”

“It happens.”

 

The sitting man laughed, patting the ground next to him as an invitation. Eska plopped to his side like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

 

“Did you grow it?”

“Yup. Did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

“Hm.”

How weird, that such an unenthusiastic response could be almost better than the most sincere of compliments.

They didn’t move for what felt like hours. It was just the two of them, relaxing under a tree’s shade, looking over a field of beautifully purple flowers that buzzed quietly with every breath of breeze washing over them.

It was a really nice day.

And Willy felt fine.

“You’re so quiet today.” he breathed, a bit of a cackle sliding in.

Of course he was quiet. Eska was always quiet, he talked so little. He just hummed or grunted or hissed or…

… or kept completely silent, without answering at all.

 

Willy looked to his side.

Eska wasn’t there.

 

God. No. Not this. Not again.

 

He stood up: “Eska?” he called. The messy head wasn’t anywhere over the flowers.

A weak sound echoed far away in the stagnant calm. It sounded like a soft bark. A dog? What is it doing here, why is it here, is it him? He listened again. Yes, there, it repeated.

Willy dashed towards it, stems ungracefully departing from one another to create a path to the noise.

The source laid in the middle of the plants, limbs spread in abandon through the lavander, eyes up to the sky. His head shifted slightly as his breathless friend came into vision, short curls pending on him and a relieved expression.

 

“You found me.”

 

“… heh. S… Sure did…”

The freckled man fell on the ground and laid down right next to Eska, inhaling deeply to fill his needy lungs with the oxygen he neglected while running.

 

“Please… Never do that again. I got worried.”

 

Eska kept looking at the sun and didn’t say a word. He waited until his friend’s chest regained its natural rising and falling rhythm before turning to him with the most serious eyes he’d ever had.

 

“I have to ask you a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

 

No answer.

 

Willy followed him to an unkept corner of what seemed like a massive garden. He looked around disoriented; so focused on the bony spine almost poking out of the clothes right in front of him, he hadn’t paid attention to the trip itself.

The area felt familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.

Between the tall shallow blades of grass stood a number of small slabs of some sort of stone. Every one of them had a word clumsily carved onto it in an unstable penmanship that made the already hard job of understanding the writings almost absolutely impossible. He still kneeled, doing his best to decipher the closest one.

“Po… Pom-me-dee…”

“Pomme-de-terre.” Eska corrected him, not even looking, and placed a thoughtful caress on the plate before walking past it.

His hand brushed over each of the slabs, accompanied by his constantly cracking voice muttering. Hampaat, Carmen, Luva, Hníf, Azúcar, Riba, Kirbes, he listed softly with every fond pat he left on them.

Once he passed them he stood perfectly silent for a little, back overlooking the small stone forest.

Finally he sat down and sighed.

Willy walked up to him and took a seat at his side. On the horizon, bigger chunks of stone went trailing away from sight, one behind the other in orderly lines. He let out a weak ‘oh’.

That’s where they were.

“What were they?” Willy murmured. He feared raising his voice would have angered those sleeping beneath the ground.

“Ferret, croc, Steller’s jay, racoon, lynx, ram rabbit, otter, deer.”

“You had a deer?”

“Hm.”

The darker man nodded, slightly embarassed by his question. It felt like the only thing he could do.

Eska’s hand grabbed his absent-mindedly, without a real purpose. Details of a life he didn’t want to know began creeping up Willy’s arm like an amry of ants.

He tried focusing on the soft pressure of the palm.

It felt warm.

Real.

Like something Eska sort of seemed like he could have never been.

All of a sudden, Willy remembered: the favor. That’s why they were there. Why he’d brought him there. Though asking about it like that, almost out of the blue, felt somewhat wrong. He waited for Eska to start speaking instead, hoping his friend hadn’t forgotten about it.

The masked head fell on his shoulder softly.

“I want to stay next to them.” the hushed voice crackled.

“I want you to put me down, next to them.”

“Y… You make it sound like me outliving you is a fact.”

Silence filled the small gaps between them with an immense distance, oozing of a terrifying certainty.

“I will.” Willy assured with his quietest whisper.

Eska simply wrapped him in his langly arms and rubbed his forehead on his shoulder, mimicking a grateful purr. Just like a magician, he pulled a small bunch of lavander out of one of his pockets, offering it to Willy.

“You’re not giving it to them?” he inquired, pointing to the tombs behind them.

The other just pushed the flowers closer to him.

Willy thought for a second, biting his lower lip. “So these are… If I wanna visit… W-well, there’s…”

A puffy exhale: “Wanna go meet my dad?”

Silence agreed.

Willy tried imagining what his father’s reaction might have been at the sight of a langly skull-masked figure seemingly spawned directly from hell next to his son, looking over to the carved marble that spelled out his name as he placed the flowers at his feet.

Maybe he would have laughed about it. Or he would have tried to politely push whatever that thing was out of their lives.

But the boy was quiet and had some kind of manners, and Willy felt fine around him, so…

Then again, he was Eska.

Which meant he was more than able to terrify someone with a single glare. And Papa Franks’ trust would have flown out of the window as soon as his eyes would have laid upon him.

Eska hunched over to the tombstone, looking as if he was trying to read.

“Rupert Franks.” Willy helped him.

The other didn’t say a word and kept still.

They didn’t speak for a while, listening to each other’s breath, the breath of the only two beings alive in a cemetery as big as a whole world.

Willy lowered his head and looked at his shoes.

 

“Y’know, one time…” he began, unsure of why he suddenly felt like sharing something with the friendly demon, "One time we went to a wood. A small forest. We knew it… Pretty well, I think.

We were walking, and it was hot, and, and Wally started to not feel well. Dad helped him get better… and I tried to, too. I really did… but… Oh, nevermind. Long story short, I screwed up.”

 

He could feel the heterochromatic glance burning on his skin, but no words filled the air.

Just a breath so soft it felt unreal.

He swallowed.

“We should be going.”

 

It wasn’t even evening.

 

They walked side by side, quiet, silence screaming in Willy’s ears so loudly he could feel them on the brink of bleeding. It was the right thing, what he deserved, he kept rummaging in his mind. He had told him something he shouldn’t have let himself tell and now neither of them was willing to talk about it, or about litteraly anything else. It didn’t matter. It was fine. He just regretted boring him. But what’s done is done.

 

“You didn’t.”

 

Eska’s feet dragged on the sidewalk. He never wore shoes, did he?

 

“ ‘I didn’t’ what?”

“Tell it to me. Please.”

 

Like he never finished a thought before starting a new one.

 

“I’ll tell you about them.”

 

Maybe he just had a terrible sense of timing.

 

“You start.”

 

The masked head bent backwards, neck creaking as he remembered.

 

“Pomme-de-terre was brown. Soft and clever. Long, like a snake with fur. Liked to sneak and dig holes in the ground. Once he went away. Came back a couple of weeks later. Had a ring of gold and stones. We sold it and got the mattress. Pomme-de-terre was really clever.

Haampat was old. Slow. It hurt to chew, so she ate lots once every two months. She let me ride on her back. Scared a lot of people like that. But she was very nice. Very quiet. Curled around me at night. All the sheets were only for her. Haampat was cold easily.

Carmen couldn’t sing. Only scream. Yelled when he got lonely. Climbed my back and stayed clutched there. I had to sleep on my stomach. He learnt to say my name. Was smart. And loud. Called me all day. Carmen was very lonely.

Luva cleaned all the food. Always. Was busy cleaning it all day. For everyone. Grabbed everything I gave him and cleaned it. I loved watching him do that. He was very careful. Very clean. Never cleaned me. Luva was too small for that.”

 

His amber eye turned to Willy.

Your turn, it whispered encouragingly.

The janitor nodded, eyes to the ground as he picked up his recollection from where he’d left it.

 

“So, well… Wally wasn’t feeling well at all. At one point he passed out, and we freaked out. Dad asked me to get him some water, and I did, but to be honest, I… I was about to faint too. But I didn’t tell them. I forced myself to stay awake.

I was scared that they wouldn’t care if I fainted, or that they would worry. I didn’t want them to worry for me.

So, instead, I got Wally the water, and Dad helped him get better. And then we went back home and there I blacked out. I woke up feeling sicker than I’d ever been. Still, I didn’t tell anyone. Wally only found out because he saw me throw up, and got mad at me for hiding my problems.”

A tired smile crept its way onto the freckled face: “I guess some things never change.” he muttered.

 

Eska hummed.

Your turn, incited Willy’s silence.

He scratched his neck and resumed his tales.

 

“Hníf groomed me. Night and day. Woke up at random and groomed me. Licked all my hair and arms and neck. Never stopped. Purred everytime she did. But it was nice. And she liked when I pet her. Protected me. Even when she was old. Hníf was sweet.

Azúcar was really small. Like a grain of sugar. Ate in a funny way. Tried to fight a lot of things, even though he was so tiny. Broke a paw once. I don’t think bunnies do that usually. He looked lovely. Azúcar was really soft, too.

Riba left everyday to get fish. Loved fish. Only wanted to eat fish. Refused everything that wasn’t fish. At least I learnt how to cook it. He smelled bad and was always a little wet. Didn’t care. Kept asking me to pat him. Really liked that. Riba was so affectionate sometimes.

Kirbes didn’t trust me. Not completely. Was always a little suspicious. Didn’t listen to me. I gave her food and let her be. She slept a lot. I had her just a month. In winter. She couldn’t stand up.”

 

His voice faded as the last sentence escaped his lips: “Kirbes was very sick.”

 

They didn’t even notice they stopped walking.

 

What was all of this about, again?

It was about telling each other of something they wouldn’t have told anybody. All because they paid a visit to mr. Franks and Willy had slipped part of a story. All because Eska asked to be buried in his own pet cemetery and had flowers. All because they had met by accident under a tree in front of a lavander field.

The Sun was still warm above their heads.

In the end, they had done nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Just talk, walk, sit.

Ignore the feeling of sunrays on their skin.

 

Eska reached for Willy’s hand, deviating his train of thought. His skinny finger brushed softly against his knuckles.

 

“There’s no snow now.”

“You didn’t screw up.”

 

Late words like turning gears that don’t match, stubbornly trying to rotate and make their engine work somehow despite not being built to go together.

The two of them started walking again. It was quiet. Willy understood what Eska meant when he said he had no power over his feet.

There was maybe just… a last question.

 

“What does Kirbes mean?”

 

“… Pumpkin.”

 

Of course.

**Author's Note:**

> for those who are curious about the names of the other pets:  
> Pomme-de-terre is potato in French, Haampat teeth in Finnish, Carmen song in Latin, Luva glove in Portuguese, Hníf knife in Islandish, Azúcar sugar in Spanish and Riba fish in Bosniac.  
> What can I say, the boy knows a lot of languages.


End file.
